


Drinks

by FriendlyCybird



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, An American trying to write an evening at a British Pub, Gen, Hangover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:14:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: Going out for drinks after work is something Tim and Sasha might do regularly, but certainly not something they bring Jon and Martin along for very often. But with tensions up in the middle of all this worm craziness, that's exactly what needs to happen.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17
Collections: The Magnus Archives Rare Pairs 2020





	Drinks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semnai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semnai/gifts).



> Imagine my surprise when one of my recips prompts for this exchange was also a plot bunny I've had around since I first listened to S1. Fast Forward both way too much and not nearly enough research on pubs later and we have this.

"Has anyone seen Martin this morning?" 

Jon had a tall stack of statements on his arm, topped with a handwritten page of instructions for follow-up phone calls. Tim and Sasha looked up from their desks in almost comical unison. Sasha just blinked, but Tim chuckled. "Imagine being late to work when you live at work. Haven't seen him." 

"Of course not." Jon grumbled. He marched over to Martin's desk and unceremoniously dropped the stack of statements on it. "Not one of these gave the computer any trouble and he's not around to..." he trailed off and instead turned to stalk toward the storage room. 

Behind him, Jon could hear Tim stage whisper something. A confused noise from Sasha, and another stage whisper from Tim. He whirled to face them. "You know something," he said instead. "Where's Martin?" There was an edge of something that wasn't quite paranoia in his voice, and certainly wasn't concern. 

"Probably still in bed." Tim said, with the tone of an admission. His expression went a bit cagey then, and Jon's eyes narrowed at him. "He said something about a rough night last night. I'll check on him, and if he's not up for it, I'll do the..." he gestured vaguely toward Martin's desk.

Jon's shoulders slumped, and Sasha glanced back and forth between them in confusion. "Don't bother. Just...keep on with whatever you're..." he made an equally vague gesture and started back into the stacks to gather more statements. 

Martin woke to what sounded like glass being shattered. 

He bolted upright and felt the entire world spin and his stomach lurch unpleasantly. His throat burned as he swallowed stomach acid back down and desperately tried to focus his vision through the rolling waves of panic and nausea.

The worms had gotten in. Jane Prentiss had broken the window. He was about to die. His hand went under the pillow for the pocket knife he'd been keping under there, though he still wasn't sure exactly what good it would do. At least he wouldn't...go down without a fight. It was funny how that use to be proverbal. But as his stomach rolled and his head pounded, Martin was a lot less sure about this whole being upright thing every second. Even just sitting. 

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, heavy and warm. Reassuring. A strong grip. Tim's voice. "Easy there, Martin. It's just me. Picking up your bottles." There was a gentle squeeze, and Martin looked up. Tim looked...normal. 

Then he remembered.

Martin groaned and tipped backwards on the bed as the night before came back to him in a rush. His stomach lurched again and he rolled onto his side, facing away from Tim and pulling the pillow up to hide in. Tim's next breath had a note of laughter in it when he asked "You know I didn't mean for you to have that six pack all in one go, right? It was meant to last a week or two." Martin just groaned again and Tim laughed slightly. "Not that I don't totally understand the appeal of getting plastered but..." 

"It's not that." Martin interrupted. Tim stopped, and Martin felt regret through every inch of his body. Now he would have to explain what it was. Tim was silent, patiently awaiting his explanation. Slowly, carefully, steadily, Martin sat up and looked at Tim. It was a little easier to focus his eyes, although the light through the window felt like it was trying to stab through his skull. "I was trying to get rid of it." Tim fell silent, and stared at Tim, expression initally blank, but rapidly growing puzzled. "I don't...like beer." Martin explained. "I don't know anything about beer except that I can barley stomach it and I didn't want it to keep sitting there like...like I owed it something for existing in my...my...space, or whatever. And last night I felt, I don't know. Safe? Angry? I was in some sort of mood and I just. Drank it. So it'd be gone and I wouldn't..." he groaned, suddenly aware, having said the words out loud, exactly how stupid his thought process from the night before sounded. He collapsed back onto the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. Then, a bit hoarse, asked "Would you believe I got this idea _before_ I started drinking?" 

Tim chuckled, a bit sheepishly. "Right, so the beer was a bad idea. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...I don't know. I thought it was a bit of cheeky fun. I mean, who doesn't like beer?" he paused "You, obviously. You drank an entire six pack when you don't..." he trailed off. "Never mind. Alright. I'll bring you some water and painkiller. Get some sleep, I'll cover for you." 

"Cover..." Martin muttered, then startled "what time..." 

"Take it easy." Tim put his hand on Martin's shoulder again and pressed him back down onto the bed. "I'll tell Jon you're sick. Nausea, bit of a fever maybe. Probably just a little bug." 

Martin hated that his eyes welled up. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he demanded, though the shrillness of his own voice set his head off throbbing again, he didn't stop. "First the groceries a-and the beer and..." 

"I got you the beer, that makes this my fault." Tim answered simply, even gently. "So I'll cover for you. Now rest."  
-  
"Martin? I thought Tim said you weren't feeling well?" Sasha's voice was concerned but had an interrogative edge to it that made Martins pulse spike. "I know you might feel better but if its a flu bug you really should get back to bed." 

He was probably only imagining the cloyingly sweet note of pity in her voice. Sasha wasn't like that. Martin knew that, but he heard what he heard and reacted to it before he could stop himself. "Yeah? I'd rather not be alone with my thoughts any more than I have to be, thanks." 

Sasha winced. "That bad?" she asked. 

Martin sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you, you're trying to help." 

"No, it's alright, I understand." Sasha answered quickly. Martin looked at her skeptically and she gestured toward her shoulder. Martin silently backed down with an apologetic glance and Sasha smiled. "You know I use to cut through two different parks on my walk down from Victoria? Not anymore. Even regular worms make me jump." 

"You should start coming to a closer stop." Martin suggested. 

Sasha considered. "I'll think about it. You know, maybe when you feel better you should just...go out and about. Not home of course, but somewhere. Try to shake off the stir crazy?" 

"I've thought about it." Martin admitted with a sort-of echo of Sasha's own answer. "I'm just not sure where I'd go. Tim sort-of destroyed my need to do any shopping." 

Sasha snorted. "That's Tim. Picking the perfect favor to inconvenience you with." 

Martin blinked and stammered. "I'm not saying he did it on purpose -" 

Sasha shook her head. "No, of course not." she paused, then "Tell you what, when you're feeling better? Sometimes Tim and I go to a pub not far from here. You should definitely join us soon." 

"Yeah?" Martin tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. He failed. "I might do that." 

"What about this weekend?" Sasha offered. "Tim and I are coming in to comb through Jon's discredited boxes. He's been a bit quick to throw things in there lately."

Instinctively, Martin rose to Jon's defense. "That's because they don't..." he trailed off, realizing suddenly he didn't have a logical end to that sentence, however much sense it made to him. 

"I know." Sasha said pointedly. "It's really just busywork but Jon came down here wanting to clean this place up and if he starts turning into another Gertrude, he'll have to fight my thoroughness every step of the way." 

Martin laughed. "Can you imagine Jon being as disorganized as Gertrude Robinson though?" he laughed a bit more, genuinely cheered by the ridiculous concept.

Sasha was smiling, but she shook her head. "The more time I spend with these files, the less sure I am Gertrude was disorganized." Martin stopped laughing and made a noise of disbelief. "I'm serious!" Sasha insisted. "I keep feeling like there was...you know, a method to the madness. I just can't put my finger on it." Martins smile gave way to a considering expression, and for a moment so did Sashas. Then she smiled again. "Not to worry, I'll figure it out eventually. For now, Drinks Saturday, yeah?" 

Martin hesitated. Then "Yeah, sure. Why not?" he paused, then asked "How's the cider at this place?"  
-  
The summer Jon was ten, he'd fallen asleep on the beach at sunrise over a very engrossing volume he no longer remembered the title of. He's slept over five hours and woke with perhaps the worst sunburn of his life. Three days later the pain had passed unless the reddened and peeling skin was touched directly. So of course he'd had the constant urge to scratch it. 

It was a similar feeling now that had Jon clicking through the digital copies of the box of statements Sasha had digitized that morning, looking for one, any one, with bad enough quality to justify recording analog. He didn't particularly like recording statements. Sometimes, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, it bordered on painful. For equally unexplainable reasons he was feeling a steadily increasing frustration at not having one to record. 

Jon was relieved from this confusing emotional state by the door opening and Sasha entering his office, followed closely by Tim. Tim spoke first. "Hey boss, wanna join us for drinks tomorrow night?" 

Jon blinked. "I..." were they inviting him out entirely for social reasons, unrelated to work? "What? ...Why?" 

Tim rolled his eyes, but Sasha answered. "You know. De-stress. Group bonding. That sort of thing." 

Nodding, Tim added "This whole Prentiss thing has us all ready to explode with tension and you need to blow off steam as much as the rest of us." he paused a moment, and very noticeably looked Jon up and down before stating "Maybe more." 

Jon felt heat rise in his face. It was absolutely unfair of Tim to use _that_ expression on him and no doubt the other man was aware of it. They'd talked about flirtatious behavior years ago, hadn't they? Jon huffed past his initial flustered reaction and then said "Well, I suppose there's no harm in it." 

"Great!" Tim enthused. "It'll be the four of us then. See you there!" and turned suddenly and left. Sasha seemed just as startled as Jon by his quick departure. 

Jon was more startled by his comment. "The four of us.?" he asked. 

"Martin too." Sasha clarified. Jon scowled involuntarily, and Sasha looked as though realization had dawned. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Jon. Want to get home before dark." and she was gone as quickly as Tim. 

Jon sighed heavily and relaxed into his seat the best he could.

He supposed it was too late to back out now. He wondered if he ought to feel trapped. Instead, he mostly just found his interest in recording a statement renewed, and returned to his work.


End file.
